


last resort

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Caretaking, Excessive Drinking, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Hangover, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Bill calls Holden from the bar to pick him up and drive him home. The morning brings consequences, both bad and good.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	last resort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon on tumblr who wanted Bill being sick and stubborn and Holden dropping everything to take care of him <3

The bar is a daze of neon lights and rowdy conversation. The television above the glistening rows of liquor shelves displays the tail end of a basketball game that Bill can hardly keep track of around the drunken tilt inside his brain. His fingers feel numb around the glass of whiskey - he can’t remember if he’s had four or five or maybe six. His face feels like it's melting off while his head churns, brain turned to soup by the buzz of alcohol. 

There’s always a point when he knows he’s drunk and should stop. Another drink past that, and he’s convinced he’s perfectly fine and able to walk or even drive out of here. If he lets himself slip even further past that point, he’s in real trouble, only he barely has enough sense left inside his head to realize it. 

He’s not sure where he’s at now, but he feels sick. He knocks the last of the whiskey in the glass back anyway, and fumbles with his pockets for his wallet. He tries to stand up as he does so, and his equilibrium swan dives like a rollercoaster in freefall. He doesn’t realize he’s staggering against the row of bar stools until he’s halfway towards the floor. 

“Hey, man, you okay?”

He glances up to see another patron of the bar standing over him, a concerned frown on his brow. 

“Fine.” Bill mutters. 

The guy offers him a hand, and Bill climbs slowly to his feet. He waves down the bartender. 

“I don't think so.” The bartender says, “You’re cut off, man.”

“I know.” Bill says, “Can I use your phone?”

The bartender nods, and grabs the phone from the bar. He hands it over to Bill, and Bill tucks the receiver against his shoulder, listening to dial tone for a long moment. He doesn’t know the number for a taxi service off the top of his head, and he’s too humiliated by his own lack of self-control to ask the bartender to call one for him. Falling on his ass was mortification enough. 

He starts dialing before he can reconsider. 

“Hello?” Holden’s voice is distant and fuzzy, like he’s reaching from the other side of the morning and what’s bound to be a beastly hangover. 

“Holden.” Bill says, closing his eyes. His voice sounds weird. Raspy, high-pitched. 

“Bill, are you okay?” Holden asks, concern instantly bleeding into his voice. 

“No, I …” He hesitates as he realizes whatever pride he’s clinging to is about to get obliterated. But he can’t drive himself home. 

“Where are you?” Holden asks, and it’s as if he already knows. 

Bill presses his fingertips to his forehead. He’s too drunk to really flush with embarrassment, or to even fully consider the consequences of calling Holden on a Saturday night, drunk off his ass. 

“Blue’s Taphouse.” He says, “Do you know where it is?”

“I think so.”

“Good, because I can’t give you directions right now.” His speech is slow and slurred, but it probably sounds even worse to Holden. 

“Stay where you are.” Holden says. “I’m coming.”

“Okay. Thanks.” 

They hang up, and Bill mutters a thank you to the bartender as he hands the phone back over. He sinks back to his chair, feeling a wave of nausea overcome him. 

“Hey, buddy, if you’re gonna puke take it outside.” The bartender says, scowling. 

Ignoring him, Bill takes a moment to collect himself before rising slowly and shuffling across the bar. The floor seems to tilt underneath his feet like a boat on stormy waters, first in one direction and then the other. He weaves his way across the bar to the front doors, and shuffles out onto the sidewalk where the cool, night air soothes his flushed cheeks. 

He finds the bench out front to take a seat on, and sinks down against the hard, wooden slats with a weary exhale. The fresh air is doing wonders for the layer of sweat under his clothes, but he can feel the alcohol beginning to boil in his belly as it settles in against the remnants of his scarce dinner. Already he knows he’s made a mistake, and it’s not even morning yet. 

Bill lights a cigarette to keep himself lucid while he waits. He burns the tip of his finger trying to light the damn thing, and mutters a curse. The pain is dull and forgettable under the daze of whiskey. He smokes slowly, barely feeling the rush of nicotine in his already pounding veins. 

Holden’s blue Nova pulls along the curb after what could have been either ten minutes or an hour. Bill isn’t really sure how time is passing right now, only that he’d rather the night be over sooner rather than later. 

Holden circles the hood of the car, and crosses the sidewalk to where Bill is slouched. He stands still for a moment, his hands tucked in his pockets, his brow creased with concern. Bill can tell he’s trying to decide between offering a joke and real compassion. 

“Don’t say anything.” Bill suggests. 

He clambers to his feet, and tosses his cigarette to the ground. He presses his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness that makes him sway on his feet. 

Holden’s hand grasps his elbow. “Are you going to pass out? Or puke?”

“I don’t know. Maybe both.” 

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” Holden says. 

They make slow progress to Holden’s car. Bill practically falls into the passenger’s seat. He reaches for the seatbelt, but Holden has already grabbed it and dragged it over his lap. 

“I can buckle my own beat- … sheet … seat-”

“Your what?” Holden chuckles. 

“Shut up.”

Holden latches the seatbelt in place, and rolls down the window. “If you feel like throwing up, stick your head out the window.” 

“Great idea.” Bill mumbles. 

“Hey, I’m the one putting my car at risk.”

Bill opens his eyes to offer another snarky retort, but Holden is shutting the door in his face. He groans, and sinks lower in the seat. 

Holden climbs in, and the car lurches into motion. Bill clings to the contents of his stomach for the entire drive, focusing solely on not vomiting in Holden’s car. The radio plays at low volume, some saccharine love song that isn’t helping. The sweet, lovesick lyrics make him want to do another round of shots. 

When they arrive at his house, Holden physically drags him out of the passenger seat. Bill wrangles his keys out of his pocket as they approach the front door, and Holden takes them out of his hand. He rifles through the keys before locating the right one, and unlocks the door. 

They stumble inside, Bill hanging around Holden’s neck by his arm. 

“Could you at least try to walk?” Holden grunts, laboring under his weight. 

Ignoring the jab, Bill steers them in the direction of the hallway, groaning, “Bathroom.”

“Shit. Are you really going to puke?” Holden asks as they stagger down the darkened hallway towards the bathroom. 

Bill doesn’t answer. The moment he makes it through the bathroom door, he falls to his knees, and thrusts his face over the toilet bowl. His whole body seems to throw itself into the force of his stomach rejecting the overload of whiskey against far too little food. Clutching the plastic seat in trembling hands, he heaves into the bowl no less than five times before the wave of nausea passes. 

As he sinks back against his heels, he feels Holden’s hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

“Fuck.” Bill whispers, pressing a hand to his clammy forehead. The acute nausea and dizziness has passed with some of the alcohol out of his system, but he still feels like his insides are marinating in a hot puddle of whiskey. 

“It’s okay.” Holden says, softly. “It’s probably better to get it out now.”

“I’m fine.” Bill says, a sudden rift of defensive anger cutting through his middle. He shrugs Holden’s hands off his shoulder, and shoots him a glare. 

In the semi-darkness of the bathroom, Holden’s eyes are wide with concern. 

“You can go now.” Bill says, sharply. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine. I’m-”

The retort is cut off by a sudden punch of fresh nausea. Bill lurches over the toilet, vomiting violently into already soiled water. 

Holden’s hands are on him again. Carefully, yet gently squeezing his shoulder and rubbing his back. 

Bill leans over the toilet seat, breathing heavily. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to look up and see the disgust on Holden’s face. If his partner ever had any real respect for him and his self-control, it’s completely gone now. Destroyed. Drowning in a pool of vomit and pity. 

“You’re not fine.” Holden says, quietly, but his tone isn’t belittling. “I mean Jesus, Bill, why didn’t you call me earlier?” 

Bill lifts his head. His eyes are stinging and he can smell his own putrid vomit. He flushes the toilet, and yanks a handful of toilet paper from the roll to wipe his mouth. 

“You really have to ask?” Bill mutters. He spits bile into the wad of toilet paper, and tosses it in the trash can. 

Holden sighs. “Okay. Let’s just get you to bed.” 

Bill can hardly resist as Holden’s grasp slips under his arms, and lifts him from the ground. He feels weak and shaky, like every last scrap of strength has been siphoned - or rather puked - out of his body. He washes his hands in the sink before grabbing his toothbrush. 

Holden leans in the doorway of the bathroom while Bill does his best to scrub away the bitter taste of stale whiskey and bile. When he finishes rising out his mouth, Holden puts a hand on his back. 

“I wouldn’t judge you.” Holden says as Bill grudgingly loops his arm around his neck. 

They shuffle out of the bathroom. Holden’s hand is warm against Bill’s ribs. 

“You don’t have to be nice about it.” Bill says, “This is mortifying.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.” Holden says, “But I don’t want to be your last resort. I mean, I don’t have to be. You can ask for my help whenever you need it.”

“You aren’t my last resort.” Bill says, “I didn’t call anyone else.”

They pause in the doorway of Bill’s bedroom for Holden to turn on the lights. The lamp flickers on, exposing the gentility in his eyes. They’re like the sky, sometimes blue and sometimes gray, shifting from one to the other depending on sunlight and rain. Bill has always admired them, but right now he wants to stare at them for hours, get lost inside their inviting warmth.

“What?” Holden whispers. 

Bill glances away. He wants to kiss Holden right this second, but that’s just the whiskey talking. And he just threw up so it would be more than inappropriate. It would be gross. 

“Nothing.” Bill says, “This isn't just mortifying. It’s fucking pitiful.” 

Holden shakes his head as he guides Bill towards the bed. 

“What? You think it isn’t?” Bill asks. 

“No.” 

“Then what is it?”

“Go to bed.” Holden says, depositing him in the bed sheets. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“No, tomorrow I’m going to have the worst hangover of my life.” Bill says, kicking off his shoes. 

Holden drags the sheets over him, and Bill can’t find the will to ignore how nice it feels to be tucked into bed. He closes his eyes as Holden leans over him. Maybe if he opened them he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge he’d crushed earlier to drag Holden down and kiss him, hard and desperate, all over his mouth, his face, his neck. 

“Go to sleep.” Holden whispers. 

It’s the last thing Bill remembers before he drifts off, second only to the warm brush of Holden’s fingertips across his forehead. 

~

Bill wakes up the next morning with his head pounding. It feels like someone is splitting his skull open with a sledgehammer, or running it over with a truck. His dry eyelids crack open to the late morning sunlight streaming through the window that feels more like sharp daggers piercing his corneas. 

He rolls over with a groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. The details of the previous night come back slowly, fuzzy and out of order. He’s knee deep in the misery of remembering falling down and being cut off by the bartender when his heart jolts in his chest at the memory of Holden putting him to bed. 

He sits up so quickly that his head spins and he nearly vomits again. 

“Fuck.” He groans, leaning back against the headboard. 

He lays still until the world stops spinning again, and slowly opens his eyes. He’s still dressed in his button-down and slacks from the previous night, and the front of his shirt has some dried puke on it. 

Scowling, he takes off the shirt, and tosses it into the hamper. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and takes off his trousers as well. His skin feels tacky from layers of dried sweat, and his throat is cotton-dry. He’s not sure whether to go for a cup of water or a shower first. 

Bill startles when a soft knock comes from the door. His head swivels, but just before he can muster a reply, the knob turns. 

Holden slips inside, carrying one cup of water and one of orange juice. 

“Good morning.” He says. 

“Holden.” Bill breathes, yanking the blankets over his lap. “You’re still here.” 

“Yeah.” Holden says, “It was really late last night. I hope it’s okay that I slept on the couch.”

“Fuck. Yeah, of course.” Bill says, clutching his head. “What time was it?”

“Almost two a.m.” 

“Jesus.” Bill mutters, “I had no idea. Why did you even answer the damn phone?”

Holden shrugs. “I was still up. It’s fine, Bill. Really.”

Bill slowly lifts his head as Holden crosses the room to his side. He sets the two glasses down, and pulls a bottle of Aspirin out of his pocket. 

“Here, take some of these.” Holden says, uncapping the bottle. 

Bill takes the pills, and swallows them down with the glass of water. 

“Good. Now drink some orange juice.”

Bill makes a face. “I need some coffee.”

“No you don’t. Orange juice.” Holden says, waving his finger at the cup. “You’re dehydrated. Do you know what coffee does to your body? It’s not the hangover tonic everyone thinks it is.” 

Bill shoots Holden a puzzled gaze. He hadn’t expected a science lesson at ten o’clock in the morning. He drinks the damn orange juice. 

Holden sits down in the chair beside the bed, and folds his hands in his lap. He watches Bill drink the juice quietly, but Bill can sense the curiosity roaming under layers of placid indifference. 

“You’d probably like an explanation.” Bill says. “And I probably owe you one.”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Bill scoffs, “I dragged you out of your house at two in the morning to take my sorry ass home. I think I do.”

Holden’s mouth purses, and he glances away. “You said you didn’t call anyone else.” 

Bill sighs, and sets the empty glass on the nightstand. “No.”

“You  _ could have  _ called someone else.” 

“Really?” Bill asks, “Who? Wendy, Gregg? I can tell you how that would have gone over.”

“You have friends outside of work.”

Bill shakes his head, “As much as it pains me to admit, I really don’t. Nancy had a lot of friends, but that was mainly because of church and school. I’m not really involved in either of those things anymore.”

Silence settles uncomfortably around that bone-deep, honest confession. In the drowsy, late morning, Bill can hear the lively chirp of birds outside the window. It’s Sunday, and the world is supposed to be fresh and alive on the weekend. Right now, the sunlight feels like too much, the cheery birdsong a mocking backtrack to his misery. 

“So … I’m your only resort.” Holden murmurs. 

Bill takes a second to remember even saying those words last night. Along with that revived memory comes the lurid impulse to drunkenly kiss Holden on his pretty, plush lips. Bill clenches his jaw as the urge resurfaces, bright and razor-edged in morning clarity. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Bill mutters. “But you can go now. I’m done puking.”

He gets up from the bed, and Holden stands to follow him. “Are you sure? We could go get breakfast or-”

“No, Holden.” Bill says, sharply, spinning to cast him a glare. “Just stop, all right? Stop pitying me. Stop trying to help me. Just fucking stop.”

Holden takes a jagged step back, his mouth slipping partially open. A wounded gleam shines in his eyes. 

Bill sighs, and presses his fingertips to his tear ducts. His head pounds, and he’s feeling sick again, but in a different way. 

“Look, I was there drinking because Nancy called last night, and she’s … she’s seeing someone.” Bill says, finally, admitting it because the truth feels like it’s poisoning his veins. “I barely see Brian as it is. And I was never his real dad to begin with so-”

“Bill, that is not true.” Holden says, firmly yet softly. 

“Isn’t it, though?” Bill asks, slipping Holden a weary glance. 

Holden swallows hard. His hair is messy yet gleaming in the sunlight, like bronze. His eyes are sad, not judgmental, and his soft lips are trembling. There’s that niggling again. 

Bill clears his throat, and looks away. “So, I feel bad enough as it is. I don’t need you treating me like an invalid.” 

“I’m not.” Holden says, “I’m just trying to be there for you.”

He marches across the room, shouldering his way past Bill in his rush to get to the door. Bill catches him by the wrist on impulse, and lets Holden’s momentum rush past him until the tension between their arms snaps taut. Holden is whirled around by the force of his own inertia, and only when he’s wide-eyed and staggering into Bill’s chest does Bill move again. 

He crowds Holden against the door, pinning his wrist gently in place beside his head. Their bodies are aligned, chest against pounding chest, exhilarated breaths gusting back and forth in the space between them. Holden’s hips squirm softly against Bill’s, urging the curling heat birthing there in his groin. 

“Fuck. Why do you have to be like this?” Bill bites out. 

“Like what?” Holden asks. His eyes are wide, vivid, cornflower blue in the sunlight. He’s trembling. 

“Good.” Bill whispers, clutching his cheek, rubbing his thumb across the soft, blushing skin. “Kind. Caring.” 

Holden blinks, and his mouth purses while he swallows. His nostrils flare slightly. 

Bill presses closer, leaning his forehead against Holden’s. “Beautiful.”

Holden draws in a stammered breath, almost chokes. “You think…?”

Bill kisses him then, sloppy and fierce, on Holden’s soft, plush lips just like he’d wanted to last night - like he’s been wanting to for so long. 

Holden moans, his mouth leaning eagerly into the kiss as their lips collide. He doesn’t resist or pull away. He throws his arm around Bill’s neck, dragging him in closer, encouraging the bruising push of Bill’s mouth consuming him. 

Bill pushes his tongue against Holden’s lower lip, tasting him, reveling in the sweetness. He feels drunk again as Holden’s mouth trembles open, letting him inside, expelling eager, breathy moans that make Bill want to ravish him completely. 

Letting go of Holden’s wrist, Bill delves his fingers into the soft hair at his nape. He forces Holden’s head back farther, and Holden complies, sinking down against the door to accommodate the powerful angle. Clutching Holden’s cheek with his other hand, Bill lengthens the stroke of his kisses, licking at Holden’s palate, sucking and nipping at his lower lip. 

Holden gasps, his mouth falling open to the blistering caress. He clutches at Bill’s chest, fingers knotting in the front of his undershirt and dipping past the fabric to faintly scratch bare skin under blunt nails. 

Slowly, they sink towards the floor, their limbs intertwined in the gradual collapse. Holden ends up straddling Bill’s lap, his ankles tangled around his waist. Bill wraps both arms around him, and sinks his fingers underneath the hem of his t-shirt to clutch the warm curve of his spine. 

Holden shudders and moans, rocking his hips into Bill’s. He arches in Bill’s embrace, his spine dancing beneath the tickle of Bill’s fingertips. 

Bill tears his mouth away from Holden’s and kisses first his cheek, then his ear, and finally his neck. Holden tilts his head back to accept the slick, biting graze of lips and teeth making their way along the underside of his jaw and down into the tender skin stretched over his thundering pulse. He utters a whimpered cry when Bill applies suckling pressure to a sensitive patch of skin below his earlobe, hard with the intention to leave a mark.

“Bill … Bill.” He pants, digging his nails into Bill’s shoulders and squirming against his chest.

The sound of his name rasping from Holden’s throat brings Bill’s brain tripping back into reality. He tears his mouth away from it’s latched grip on Holden’s neck, and leans back, breathing hard. 

Holden clings to his shoulders, and meets Bill’s gaze with wide, racing eyes. His mouth is half-open, pink, damaged. His neck gleams with saliva and a darkening bruise.

“I thought you were going to do that last night.” Holden whispers. 

“I wanted to.”

Holden nods, his parted lips expelling a relieved sigh. “Oh, good. I was starting to worry you didn’t.”

“I’ve wanted to for awhile.” Bill says, reaching up to stroke Holden’s cheek. “I didn’t think you would want to after last night.”

Holden lets out a hoarse laugh. “No, I … I don’t want to see that again, but-”

“But what?”

“It made me want it more.” Holden says, pressing his cheek into Bill’s hand, and closing his eyes. “Because I … I care about you, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

Bill’s throat tightens, but he shoves the emotion aside. His skin is buzzing with need, and he doesn’t want that wonderful, hot, aching feeling that’s been avoiding him for too long to be crushed. 

“Can we come back to this?” Bill asks, “Later- after …”

Holden’s eyes brighten. “After …?”

Bill kisses him again. He doesn’t think he can say it, but he certainly wants to show it. He wants to show Holden every fantasy he’s ever had about him, every longing he’s ever pushed down in the middle of the night, every urge he’s tried to disguise as something else. 

Holden leans into the kiss, throwing the weight of his body into Bill’s chest. Bill falls backwards onto the carpet, and Holden straddles his hips, bending down to catch Bill's mouth with his own. He asserts his own yearning need, stroking at Bill's panting mouth, licking a wet stripe across Bill's lower lip before sucking on it, making Bill's skin tingle and hum with the graze of his teeth.

Grasping Holden’s hips, Bill tilts his chin up into the wet, lapping pressure of Holden’s mouth coming down passionately. He pushes his hands underneath Holden's shirt again, bunching the fabric out of the way in his pawing reach for naked skin. His coarse palms climb Holden's belly and chest, finding tender, soft nipples that instantly go taut against the brush of his thumbs. 

Holden moans softly, his mouth breaking gently from Bill's. Hot breath blusters back and forth between them as their desperate, roaming eyes meet. There’s a split second of hesitation before Holden’s gives a slight nod of encouragement. 

Bill pulls on the shirt, and Holden lifts his arms to let it come off over his head. As it sails to the ground, Bill takes in Holden's bare skin, gleaming soft and flushed in the warm, yellow daylight. His nipples pucker as Bill touches him, running his palm up the quiver of Holden's belly and against his pec.

Holden's gaze is determined as he returns the gesture, tugging the undershirt away from Bill's ribs, and cruising his soft, warm palms across bare skin.

Bill purses his lips over a groan as Holden’s hands wander lower, down against the waistband of his boxers. He urges his hips up against Holden’s touch, trying not to appear desperate but unable to smother the hot clutch of need drawing his groin taut and aching.

Holden touches him tentatively through his boxers, just enough pressure to make the dull throb burst into an unbearable, pulsing rhythm. 

Holden draws in a hitched breath and whispers, “Is this okay?”

Bill nods. “Yeah. Keep going.”

Holden’s eyes watch him with gleaming anticipation as he slips his fingers under the elastic waistband, and carefully peels the fabric away. Bill’s eyes slam shut, cutting off the image of Holden’s rosy cheeks and damp lips. Cool air touches his hard cock for what feels like the first time in years. The arousal is so taut and intense that he nearly cries. 

Holden touches him gently, the graze of his fingertips down the shaft. 

“Fuck.” Bill gasps, his hips curling up against the slight pressure. “Jesus Christ.”

Holden hums muted satisfaction as his fingers slither around the shaft, securing the thick girth against his palm. 

“God, Holden.” Bill whispers, digging his heels into the carpet to leverage up against the caress.

He opens his eyes to see Holden’s erection bulging obscenely against his khakis, the rigid outline displaying the shaft and swollen head. He reaches up to unzip him, and Holden sighs as the pressure is released. 

There’s a little bit of jostling as Bill tugs the trousers down, and Holden leans forward and lifts each leg to let them slide free of his ankles. He doesn’t let go of Bill’s cock as Bill gets him undressed, releasing his cock from the confines of his boxers. The hard, pink flesh comes free, jutting up against Holden’s belly in a delicious, throbbing curve. 

Bill takes him in his hand, enjoying the immediate whine that registers in Holden’s throat. He strokes it in a firm grip, working engorged, tender skin over swollen veins. 

Holden gasps, and sinks forward. Their mouths stagger against one another, messy and desperate. Holden’s hand strokes in rhythm with Bill’s as the kiss descends into a gasping, slick caress of lips and tongues winding back and forth.

Bill groans as he feels the pleasure stampeding through his middle. He tries to pull back on the reins of his arousal, but he’s already too far gone, blown, wrecked. Holden’s hand is soft yet resolute, quickly working him to the verge of climax, pushing hard, eager to have him coming in his hand. 

It crashes through him, blinding and white-hot. The spasms that grip him through his chest and belly are so deep and fierce that it nearly paralyzes him save for the jagged twitch of his hips. His cock shoots slick streams of release over Holden’s fingers and knuckles, and his own chest and stomach. It dapples his skin in a hot, slick rain that eases for the space of a moment before his fist working Holden’s cock drags Holden down into the pleasure with him. 

Holden bows over him, his body trembling from head-to-toe. He comes loudly, gasping in high-pitched, desperate whimpers with every jolt of his dick releasing white ribbons of cum across Bill’s stomach. Bill keeps stroking him, rubbing slick release into the wilting skin until Holden quiets, his whines descending into hiccuped pants of exhilaration. 

He sinks down, resting his forehead against Bill’s chest. 

Bill lets his head fall back against the floor, and stares at the ceiling while his blood cools. He can feel the double portion of cum dribbling across his skin, down his ribs into the tiny crevice of his navel. Everything is humming and limp, and Holden’s body is melted against his, as if the borders of their bodies are blurring and melding into one boneless heap of satisfaction.

For a long time, their labored breaths are the only sound in the silence. Slowly, Bill becomes aware again of the faint creak of the house settling, the birds still singing obliviously outside, the sunlight stretching long, pale fingers across the carpet to reach Holden’s bare shoulders. Dust motes sail above the curve of his spine, dusting him in powdery light. Bill lifts a limp hand from the carpet to run his fingertips across Holden’s shoulder and down his spine, watching with a thrill of pleasure as goosebumps rise on his skin and he shudders softly. As he reaches the bottom of Holden’s spine, he lets out a low sigh, the last of his resistance escaping his chest. 

Holden lifts his head to peek up at Bill. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” Bill asks, scoffing a laugh. 

Holden’s chuckle joins Bill’s, and he rolls off onto the carpet. Spilling onto his back, he tilts his head against Bill’s shoulder. 

“I haven’t come that hard in … God, I don’t know how long.” Holden whispers. 

“Me either.” 

They rest for a few minutes longer before Bill drags himself upright. The pain in his head has eased. He can’t tell if it's the Aspirin, the orange juice, or Holden’s touch, but he feels like a living, breathing human again. 

“I need a shower.” Bill says, “Are you staying?” 

“Do you want me to?” 

Bill glances over his shoulder at Holden who is still reclined on the carpet, his arm tucked behind his head. He looks divine - all flushed, naked, and wrecked. 

“Yes.” Bill whispers. 

“You changed your mind?”

Bill winces as he recalls his earlier frustration. “I’m sorry I yelled. I was just-”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it.” Holden says, reaching over to touch Bill’s lower back. “I know.” 

Bill leans over to kiss him, softer this time, the way a pretty boy is meant to be kissed. Not all wild and hungry, but slowly, purposefully, taking his breath away. 

Holden draws in a hitched breath when their mouths part again. He blinks rapidly, a blush climbing his throat. 

“What?” Bill murmurs, smiling at the alarmed look on Holden’s face. 

“Nothing. You’re just … really good at that.” Holden whispers, his cheeks turning scarlet. 

“I just jerked you off.” Bill says, “You didn’t break a sweat over that.”

Holden laughs, softly. “That’s different.”

“How?” 

“You’re so … hard.” Holden says, then blushes again. “Not like  _ that _ . I mean, you’re rough sometimes. I always knew you could fuck me.”

Bill glances away. Now he’s feeling his own face getting hot. 

“I didn’t know if you could kiss me like that.” Holden murmurs. 

Bill doesn’t know what to think of that, so he doesn’t say anything until Holden reaches up to gently cradle his cheek, turning his face back towards him. 

“Do it again.” He whispers. 

Bill doesn’t hesitate. He bends down to press his mouth to Holden’s again, letting himself slip away in the simple pleasure of it. The brutal tide of desperation has eased, and the ocean has gone out again. They’re left at the shore, wrapped up in each other, salty, slick skin drying in the morning sunlight until they’re both relaxed and warm. Last night’s desperation and shame fades into the background until it's only a distant scream, and Bill is too caught up in the present to think about the dwindling past. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!  
> 


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